


Tea And Sympathy

by Fatlockandfeeding



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Fat Character, Fatlock, Feeding, Feeding Kink, Pregnancy, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 09:13:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2542175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fatlockandfeeding/pseuds/Fatlockandfeeding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: "Mythea where Mycroft gains sympathetic paternity weight as she grows larger with their kin."</p><p>A look into tea time as Anthea's pregnancy progresses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea And Sympathy

_2 months:_  
  
They had tea together every day at 4 o’ clock sharp. It had been that way since the beginning, when Anthea had been no more than his assistant. On her first day she wheeled in a rather spectacular-looking tea try, laden down with a pot of deliciously-scented Darjeeling tea and a variety of scones, pastries, and cakes. And in that moment, Mycroft had decided he was keeping her.   
  
Over the years as their relationship progressed from purely professional to something fun, the afternoon teas continued. They’d fuck in the back of one of Mycroft’s big, shiny cars as they left an important meeting with some world leader, or over his polished oaken desk, or sometimes in the offices of his inferiors, just to see if they could get away with it.

Of course they both knew what it was, an excellent working relationship, a good friendship, and casual sex, no string attached.

Until one rainy Tuesday afternoon when they were partaking of their usual tea time, and Anthea turned to Mycroft and set down her cup, sighing a little. “I’m going to have to switch to decaf, Mr. Holmes, I’m pregnant.”

Mycroft swallowed, and then absently reached for the tray of pastries, putting three more onto his plate without even realising.

This was going to change things, obviously.

_4 months:_

Anthea’s new wedding ring glinted as she raised her cup of (decaf) tea to her lips and sipped, her other hand resting on the small swell of her belly. They hadn’t been able to hide it for much longer, and it simply wouldn’t do to have those who might wish to bring Mycroft down find out that he had fathered an illegitimate love child. It was a business arrangement, really, with an iron-clad pre-nup, and everything had continued on as usual. 

  
Mycroft was finding there was something rather fascinating about fucking Anthea as she swelled and grew. God, her breasts alone…  
  
He shifted in his seat and adjusted the waistband of his trousers, which were feeling rather tight as of late. His belly was bulging through his shirt buttons and Mycroft frowned, looking down at his angrily.   
  
“We may have to cut down on the teas, my dear.”  
  
Anthea raised a crumpet to her lips. “Why ever would we do that?”

_6 months:_

Mycroft rubbed his belly happily as he put yet another scone into his mouth. 

  
“Wherever you got these from this time dear,” he said, chewing, “you’ve really outdone yourself.”  
  
Anthea smiled knowingly and looked at Mycroft’s heavy belly, now resting in his lap like her own. “I made them,” she said casually, and grinned when Mycroft’s smile lit up.   
  
“Well,” he said, placing a layer of clotted cream over his buttered scone, before going on to add jam, “what a lucky man I’ve turned out to be. You know, just as you always have, you defy my expectations at every turn. I never thought I’d be comfortable with married life.”  
  
He looked very comfortable indeed.  
  
 _8 months:_

“Darling,” Anthea said lazily, her hands resting on the huge, swollen mound of her belly, “would you fetch me those files from the desk?” She rested her tea cup on her belly and sipped, watching happily and Mycroft hauled himself out of his chair with a grunt and made his way across the room. He was waddling as badly as she was now. 

  
He came back, handed her the files, and hummed happily as he looked down at her, taking in her gravid form, and her swollen breasts, which her professional work blouse was now struggling to contain.   
  
He knelt in front of her, his fat belly pressing against her legs as he rested his head on her stomach.   
  
“I love you,” he murmured, practically purring when she ran her long fingers through his hair.   
  
“I love you too, dear.”

  
Mycroft kissed her belly. “Do we have any more scones?”

She chuckled. “As many as you like.”


End file.
